


A Flower for Ambrose

by Falcolmreynolds



Series: Shadows over Sornieth [1]
Category: Flight Rising
Genre: Backstory, Gen, I love ambrose, Shadows over Sornieth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 09:36:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21052223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Falcolmreynolds/pseuds/Falcolmreynolds





	A Flower for Ambrose

Footsteps in the door. “Lady?”

“Hm? Yes?” Lady Ambrose turned, the hem of her skirts rustling across the floor. “What’s up?”

The servant winced at her casual slang. “Your ride is here, madame,” he said, bowing to her. “To take you and your esteemed mother to the ball.”

“Right.” Ambrose sighed. Yet another fancy, pointless adventure in how to step on other people’s claws. She longed for the afternoon and evening to pass quickly, so she could spend her night half asleep and half up and about, doing what she wanted.

She drew herself up and dusted off the dress she’d been told to wear. “I’ll be along in a moment,” she said, mentally putting away the normal language she used and bringing out the Approved For Polite Society rhetoric.

The carriage ride there was quiet, Ambrose dressed in finery as always and deliberately avoiding her mother’s gaze. The few picky little questions that were asked she shrugged off, diverting with one-word answers and polite sounds.

“Ambrose,” her mother finally sighed, as the carriage drew closer to their destination, “you cannot be so aloof and rude the entire evening.”

“I’m not being rude,” Ambrose said, already frustrated. “I’m just… not very interested in conversation, that’s all.”

“Well, I’m very sorry, but you’re going to have to make yourself be interested,” her mother said. “This is a formal ball with several important families visiting, and you should be less… standoffish, really, when in polite company.”

“I - yes, of course,” Ambrose said, tamping down her annoyance.

“Very good, dear. I know you’re tired and it’s going to be a long evening, but just be nice and friendly, would you?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Very good.”

The carriage rolled to a halt outside a manor - tall white pillars out front, carved from marble, and a well-lit front porch and facade leading into a warm glowing interior. Ambrose spotted some pearlcatchers standing out on the front.

“Oho!” one of them called, as they stepped out of the cart. “Look who it is!”

“Lady Vyrinna, Lady Ambrose,” another pearlcatcher said, stepping forward. He was dressed in well-tailored finery, his pearl tucked neatly into a side-pouch of his waistcoat. His scales were a deep red, his wings a pale pearly color. “Welcome, welcome.”

“Good evening, Lord Coribdan,” Ambrose’s mother said, stepping out and sweeping into a deep curtsey. “A pleasure to call upon you, as always.”

“A pleasure to have you here.” Lord Coribdan glanced up. “And you, Lady Ambrose.”

“Indeed.” Ambrose copied her mother’s elegant actions, albeit a little less gracefully. Before she could say anything else, a younger pearlcatcher trotted up to them, brown eyes alight. His scales were a light dusty red color, in almost geometric patches, and his wings and underbelly were a brighter, vibrant green. His pearl he kept in a sling by his side; it was significantly smaller than Lord Coribdan’s.

“Ambrose!” he said. “Oops - I mean, Lady Ambrose!”

“Hello, Lord Peridan,” Ambrose sighed. Periden was a friendly dragon, kind, hopeful, and enthusiastic, and was - to her dismay - her primary suitor.

The pearlcatcher beamed. “You’re a little bit early,” he said. “A few of the guests haven’t arrived yet.”

“It wouldn’t do to be  _ too _ late,” Ambrose said. “Fashionably late is one thing, but -”

“Ambrose,” Lady Vyrinna snapped. “We are in the drive.”

“Right. Sorry.” Ambrose bowed her head. “We will be moving inside, Lord Periden; perhaps we can speak later.”

“Oh, that would be lovely!” Periden chirped. “I’ll see you then!”

Lord Coribdan sent a hint of a derisive glance towards his son, but said nothing.

Ambrose followed her mother in. As always, the interior of manors were well-decorated and looked like no one lived in them. They were pristine, beautiful, and extraordinarily boring. Lady Vyrinna twittered and sighed about the decorations, as she always did, and they moved from the entryway into the ballroom.

It was set up as they always were, tables around the edges to make polite conversation, a few balconies for more private talks, and a central marble-tiled floor for dancing. This one had been decorated by mages - polished columns of stone held up a crystalline chandelier in the center of the room, one that cast pinpricks of shining light over the entire room. The effect was dazzling, but Ambrose could tell she would have a headache by the time she left.

Lady Vyrinna installed them at a table just close enough to the edge of the ballroom floor to invite dance offers, but far enough away that they didn’t look desperate. They remained off the floor until a few more guests had paraded in, dressed in all their finery.

A few of them asked Ambrose to dance. She went with some of them, but only stayed out for one song before claiming ‘exhaustion’ and returning to the table.

“Very good,” Her mother said to her, as she returned from a round with some noble or another. “But, remember, save yourself for later, when Lord Periden comes around.”

“I’m aware of what I’m supposed to do, mother,” Ambrose said, and it came out sharper than she’d expected. She winced, already hearing the reprimand. “I mean - I know. I am.”

Her mother surveyed her for a long moment. “He really is quite charming, and well-bred,” she said. “It’s rare that a pearlcatcher of his status would take an interest in you. You should consider yourself very lucky that he’s directing his attentions towards you, and you should make the best use of that possible. You’re not likely to find anyone else as high-born willing to -” she paused, rethinking her words. “...he’s doing you a favor,” she finished.

Yes, Ambrose had heard this speech before. It bit her a little more each time. She was quite aware of pearlcatcher society status, and blindingly aware that a wildclaw was not ordinarily a pearlcatcher’s first choice. For Periden to seek her hand was very unusual, and would constitute a considerable bump in her social status. “I know, mother,” she said, voice soft as she again muted her anger. “I am quite honored by Lord Periden’s attention, and by his advances.”

“Excellent. As you should be.”

_ Yes. You already said that. You’re just repeating yourself, reinforcing these ideas, _ Ambrose thought, keeping her face neutral.  _ You’re just feeding back into your own opinions, and by the Eleven, I can’t stand it. _

It didn’t take Periden long after that to find his way to them, looking as happy as he always did. “Hello!” he said, beaming. “Lady Ambrose, would you care to dance?”

Oh, she was already so tired. “I would be honored,” she said instead, and rose.

Periden led her to the ballroom floor, where there were already a few dragons spinning about. Ambrose knew the dance steps well, but was truly wretched at them - she didn’t quite have the grace required for the moves, really. It just wasn’t her style. “It’s so lovely to have you here tonight,” Periden told her, eyes sparkling.

“Truth be told, I didn’t want to come,” Ambrose sighed. Periden, at the very least, wouldn’t tattle on her to her mother - that was one of the things she liked about him. If she had to marry someone, he was at the very least tolerable, and funny, and he didn’t mind her oddities. “I’d much rather be at home.”

“But why? I know you like the quiet, but isn’t this beautiful? Father had the entire room redone just for tonight!” Periden glanced up at the chandelier. The thing probably weighed as much as Ambrose’s whole family put together. “Had a few mages come in to do it special.”

“Really?”

“Yes! They were quite friendly, if a little hurried.” Periden glanced around. “They only finished it up today, and that was because Father paid them extra.”

“Hmm.” Ambrose frowned. Something about that didn’t feel right. “You can’t rush magic.”

“I guess you can,” Periden said. “Father did, anyway.”

No, you really  _ couldn’t _ rush magic. Not Earth magic like this - it required concentration, and time, and a lot of specifically directed power. Ambrose knew more about magic than she liked to let on - or, rather, more about magic than her mother would appreciate her knowing. It wasn’t befitting of a noble to dirty their hands with the work a hired mage could do.

“I don’t know about that,” she murmured.

“You don’t trust the mages that did this?” Periden, despite his bubbly attitude, was a fairly sharp mind - more so since he’d been hanging around her. He cocked his head slightly to the side. “Why not?”

“Magic requires… patience, and precision,” Lady Ambrose said. “It’s not something you can just throw about willy-nilly. This kind isn’t, anyway.”

“Well - I mean, it seems to be working fine,” Periden said. “If it breaks later, we can always have someone repair it. Ambrose, it’ll be fine - enjoy the evening, yeah? It’s downright beautiful, and… well, I kind of - I had a hand in the design. The colors, and such.” He looked… almost embarrassed?

“I didn’t know you were into design,” Ambrose said.

“I’m not, but - you know, I figured, you seem to prefer a certain set of colors -”

Ambrose looked up again, at the chandelier. Now that she noticed, it was banded in golden topaz and brown tiger’s-eye, with spots of sapphire. “Oh,” she said. She hadn’t noticed before, and to be honest, she felt a little bad about it. Clearly Periden had put a lot of thought into it. “Oh, it’s lovely! I didn’t even realize… you did that for me?”

“Yeah, of course,” Periden said softly, gazing at her.  _ Oh, please stop that. _

She slipped easily into the facade she’d been maintaining for the better part of the evening - a pleasant, quiet, somewhat shy heiress. “It truly is nice,” she said, and spun, to get out of the way of another dancer.

“I was so hoping you’d like it,” Periden said. “Father had a hand too, but he let me choose the colors. Those were finished up today too.”

“Mm.” Ambrose nodded.

“Speaking of...”

Periden was extremely adept at speaking while doing other things, and trapping Ambrose in a well-intentioned but uncomfortable cycle of listening to whatever he thought was most interesting at the time and encouraging him with occasional head-nods and mm-hms. It took several dances to finally escape, but Ambrose made it back to her table after a while, head already hurting. That had been faster than she’d thought.

“Did you have a nice time dancing, dear?” her mother said, when she sat back down.

“I did, of course,” Ambrose answered, mechanically. “Lord Periden is an excellent dancer, and led well.”

“He always will.” Lady Vyrinna settled her claws in her lap and looked out to the crowd, which had considerably thinned from earlier. Ambrose rubbed at her skull. “Don’t muss with your feathers, dear,” her mother said automatically. “You’ll ruin them.”

“Yes, mother,” Ambrose said, and lowered her arms, squinting. It wasn’t just the light that was bothering her. There was something else. The temperature? The food? The noise? Something wasn’t right. No, it wasn’t any of those, though they were irritating, and exhausting. Her mother was saying something, but she tuned it out.

What  _ was _ that feeling? She flicked her gaze around the room, trying to spot it. Was it coming from one of the other dragons? It felt magical, like something was pushing at her mind, pressuring it. It felt like lifting a heavy stone, and feeling the weight on her back, but it was growing heavier with each passing moment.

“Ambrose, are you listening to me?” her mother cut in. Ambrose blinked a few times to clear her eyes, still searching for the source. “Ambrose!”

“No,” Ambrose said, fear rising in her throat as the pressure intensified. “I’m not. Mother, could I have one moment please, of quiet -”

Her mother was shocked, and that was enough for Ambrose to peer at the linework of the spells affecting the room. There wasn’t much, aside from the spells that had been used to create the decor for the night, so she wasn’t sure what -

Those spells. They weren’t permanent, and one of them was expiring early. She pinpointed it - one of the support columns for the side of the room. The weakness was spreading, too, up the column and into the chandelier, which - now that she looked at it - was a collection of different spells strung together. Its many sections had been individually crafted and then joined together, and some of them were worryingly weak.

“Ambrose,” her mother snapped, finally recovering, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you tonight! You are being  _ extremely _ rude and uncooperative.”

“Mother,” Ambrose said, through gritted teeth, “I am  _ looking _ at something  _ important _ , if you could just  _ give me a moment -” _

The spell began to fragment. Ambrose sucked in a breath - no! - and sprang up. No, no, it was going too soon, too fast, and there were  _ people _ underneath it.

“Ambrose!” her mother called, appalled, and she did not answer.

“Move!” she shouted, glancing up at the chandelier. A couple of nobles looked her way, baffled, but a sharp  _ crack _ that rang through the air alerted them to the incoming danger. Ambrose was halfway across the room, ignoring faces as she sped by them. The pillar, the pillar, the pillar. She focused on the pillar, looking for the spell. It was going to break entirely. It was dissolving. To fix it, she’d have to dismiss it and create a new one. “Oh, gods,” she muttered, and skidded to a halt at the foot of it.

“Careful!” someone called to her, and she couldn’t help but laugh, voice hoarse with worry.

She planted her claws on the marble floor, reached up, and laid both hands on the pillar. She could feel its weight shifting; she pressed back against it, digging her claws into the stone, and channeled just a  _ bit _ of power to lock herself into place, claws sinking into the stone. She didn’t want to slip while attempting this just because the rock was heavy.  _ Lift with your legs, _ she told herself, internally.  _ They’re the strongest part of you, aside from your heart. _ The stone weighed down; she pushed back, grimacing.

“Ambrose, no!” Periden, appearing out of the crowd. He looked frightened. “I think it’s breaking!”

“What tipped you off?” Ambrose muttered to herself, and closed her eyes, focusing. She’d never cast in front of other people before, and she had no idea how this was about to go, but she had to try - there definitely weren’t any other capable mages in the assembled crowd, and she couldn’t ethically just let the place break without doing anything about it. People could and would get hurt. “This is a replacement spell working off a latticework completed earlier on this specific site. This is a bolstering enchantment on summoned stone, auxiliary casting done previously, source unknown, power level unknown. This is a repair matrix intended to match -” she cracked one eye and glanced up, judging the pillar’s composition. “Intended to match fragmented granite and mica to its match in sequence. The stone in question is approximately one-point-seven-five meters in diameter, composed of volcanic stone from an unknown source, possibly natural, possibly unnatural. The primary break is diagonal…”

As she spoke, running through words and stumbling over half of them, she could see a network of golden lines seeping out from her claws and sinking into the stone, wrapping around it. They were not subtle - everyone could see her doing this. The nobles around her were growing quiet, watching. Her heartbeat fluttered in her chin, and her mouth felt dry.

“...re-fuse the stone within aforementioned and aforedefined pillar, with additional bolstering network to stay in place for approximately twelve hours, or until tertiary spellcasting is initiated on-site…”

Periden was watching silently. The crowd jostled and Ambrose saw her mother push her way forwards, jaw agape.

“...using primary well of power from myself, adult female wildclaw, class eleven-dash-one, alignment one, power level medium to high. Initiate internal rebonding process now.”

The cracks in the stone flared up with dark golden light, the kind Ambrose only saw in her serious practicing. They ran up the entire length of the pillar - the stress was badly distributed, and had been hairline fracturing the stone all evening - and began to fuse the stone back together.

She was scared, of everyone watching, of their opinions, of everything. But she kept going.

The pillar’s form began to solidify back together. The cracks vanished, erased in light that faded away to reveal a smooth, unbroken surface, and Ambrose’s network stayed overlaying it, glowing softly. The final cracks ran back to her claws and vanished, and she - very carefully - took her hands away, praying she’d done it right.

The pillar held.

“The weight is uneven,” she said, out loud, “and so it will be stressed until it is replaced by a more effective mechanism. But it will hold for tonight.” Her cradle of woven light wrapped gently around it, keeping the pillar from fracturing again. She let out a long breath.

There was another crack, and she whirled as something shattered. Part of the chandelier - the chandelier, so affected by the chained spells all locked together, so beautiful and so incredibly heavy - was dropping a segment.

There were people in the way, on the floor. Ambrose slammed her tail on the floor, whirled, and acted without thinking yet again. The timing was crucial. The center of mass of the falling object, coupled with the force she was able to provide, force calculated minus the power she’d already used on the pillar -

As it fell, she summoned a bolt of stone from dust, the ground, and the air, and sent it rocketing towards the crystals. It struck them perfectly, knocking the entire mass off-course, where it crashed harmlessly into a bunch of tables that were empty - everyone who had been sitting there had gotten up to come watch her work her quite literally work her magic.

The blast took a lot out of her; she stood there, chest heaving, for a few moments before she raced in that direction. “Is anyone hurt?” she called. “Is anyone - is everyone alright?”

“Mostly,” a noble said, though they seemed baffled that she was actually asking them. “I think there’s a servant or two down in there, perhaps.”

“Well - help them out!” Ambrose ordered, startled. “Don’t just stand there!”

“I can’t do that,” the noble replied - it was a spiral, coiled on a table.

Disgusted, Ambrose stormed over and searched the wreckage. Yep, she could spot a form underneath part of the crystals, and her heart seized - were they alright? Had they been speared? She couldn’t tell - as she grabbed hold of the nearest loop of stone and metal and wrenched on it.

It took a few tries, but she hoisted the chandelier segment around and back, legs and arms straining. Halfway through Periden appeared beside her and began to push on it as well.

The form beneath was a young imperial, looped over himself. There were several puncture wounds from the crystals, but nothing deadly - the bulk of the chandelier had landed behind him, rather than on top of him. Ambrose began to pick the shards out and mutter small-scale healing matrices into existence on his wounds. Healing - now, that was easy. She’d cleaned up little scrapes and scratches on herself before plenty of times; it was practically second nature to her.

“Thank you,” he said softly, blue eyes wide. “I - I didn’t get out of the way in time… I thought it was going to land on top of me, I really did…”

“Lucky for you, it didn’t,” Ambrose murmured, soothing. “It’s alright now. You’re alright.”

By the time she was halfway done, the mansion’s medic had been summoned. A haughty dark violet pearlcatcher with reddish undertones, she pushed Ambrose unceremoniously out of the way and set to work on the imperial. “Be about your business,” she snapped, to Ambrose. “This isn’t your job.”

“Alright, fine,” Ambrose muttered, and stood, backing away from the imperial. She moved towards the wall, trying to ignore the stares of other nobles; her dress was a bit tattered now, torn in several places from the chandelier fragments, and she looked disheveled and tired.

Periden pulled her aside. “Ambrose,” he said, quietly, “I didn’t know you could do magic -”

“I know, I’m not supposed to know it. But damn it, what’s the point of having magical power if you don’t hone it to something? I can’t just -”

“That was amazing,” he said.

Ambrose paused, struck for a moment. “Er - what?”

“That was incredible! You did what the mages could do! You saved a lot of people.” His expression was totally earnest, lacking the star-struck look he normally sported when looking at her. “You probably saved some people’s lives.”

“I - yes, I mean, maybe, but that was just what I had to do,” Ambrose sputtered. “It’s not something special.”

“I think it is,” Periden said. “I think it’s very special, and you’re very special. Actually - and I’ve been, um, meaning to talk to you about this, I -”

Ambrose broke in, trying not to squint too much from the ache in her head. “I - thank you, Periden, but I fear that not everyone will see it that way.” For once, she was glad to see her mother appear again from the crowd, even while knowing she was about to get the reprimand of a lifetime. “Listen - perhaps we can talk later, okay? I get the feeling my mother is about to spirit me away home.”

“...sure,” Periden said. Ambrose nodded, not paying attention, and turned away, forcing herself to walk over to her mother.

“You have a lot to explain to me, young woman,” her mother said.

The carriage ride home was… well, ‘tense’ would have been the understatement of the century. Her mother demanded to know where she’d learned magic. Who had taught her? Where? When? With what resources and material? What had she been putting off to go learn fancy light tricks? Her mother was going to have words with whoever had taught her.

“I’m not saying,” Ambrose said.

“Ambrose Vyrinna, you will listen to me, and you  _ will _ tell me where you picked up this horrible idea of being a practicing mage!”

It went like that for the entire ride. Ambrose did all she could to shut out the tirade, staring out the window.  _ I could just go. I could just leave, run away and never deal with this again. _

...she actually could. Now that she thought about it, she really could. She was a pretty passable healer, and a decent caster at most other things. Even a fighter. She could protect herself if need be. There was no reason to confine herself to this.

But what of her friends? Periden, and… no, she really only knew him. She didn’t have many friends.

_ I guess my decision is made. _  
  


-

In the morning, a butler answered the Vyrinna manor’s door to find Periden there, nervously waiting on the stoop. “Can I help you, Lord Periden?” the mirror said, bowing.

“I’d like to speak to Lady Ambrose, if I may,” Periden said, swallowing his anxiety.

“Certainly.” The mirror let him in and led him to the parlor. “Lady Ambrose is retired at the moment in her room, but her mother has instructed us to allow you to call upon her through the door.

_ Really? That’s odd, _ Periden thought, but shrugged it off. “Which way?” he asked, and the mirror pointed him down a hallway. He followed her directions and was confronted by a wooden door, shut.

He cleared his throat and raised one front claw, rapping gently. “Lady Ambrose?” he said.

No answer.

“Lady Ambrose, ah - I’m very sorry about the early hour, but I’ve come to speak to you about - well, I’d prefer if we could talk face-to-face, and your mother has instructed that I should, um… that I should be able to come back and knock on your door? I did think that was a bit odd - but that’s, oh, that’s not why I’m here. Um…”

He trailed off. There was still no answer. Perhaps she was asleep? He knocked again, but he felt he was being terribly rude.

As he clacked his claw against the wood, the door creaked open. He froze, then glanced up and down the hallway. What, exactly, was he supposed to do in this situation? Leave? Probably leave.

But why was her door unlocked, and open…?

He gave into his curiosity. “Lady Ambrose,” he said, and poked his head around the corner of the door. “I, ah, I’m very sorry for intruding, but -”

He stopped in the middle of his sentence. Ambrose’ room was neat, tidy, and empty. Her nest was in order, and a scroll of parchment was laid on top. Periden stepped in and set his bundle down on the dresser, then carefully picked his way over the carpet - making sure not to tear the fibers with his claws - and picked it up.

“To whomever finds this,” he read, “please inform my mother that I have decided to resign from her service, and also, to quit her instruction. I know the path I am going to walk; I am going to wander now, and do what good in this world I can. I can’t stay. Very sorry for the sudden departure, but I’m certain you’d have stopped me if you’d been given half the chance, so scroll on the tidied nest it is! I didn’t break the window, don’t worry. I went out through a door. Anyway, I’ll probably not see you again for quite some time. Cheers! Give everyone my love and tell them I’m doing wonderfully. If you hear about a great wandering healer fixing up people left and right in the world, that’s me! You can feel pride if you want to, but I’m not counting on it.

Love,

Ambrose.”

Periden stared at it for a moment, then sighed, rolling it up. “I will go and deliver this to her mother,” he said, to himself, and looked at the nest. He turned to the dresser and retrieved his bundle, then placed it on the made pillows before heading back to the door.

He paused just before stepping outside and looked back to the nest. “Perhaps she’ll be back someday,” he murmured.

He shut the door behind him, leaving his present - a single golden rose - on the pillows, in the silence.


End file.
